Torn Between Two Lovers (13 page)

I pulled into the parking lot across from Loraine's office building and picked up my cell phone to dial her private line. It was Monday afternoon, four days after Leon had busted us. I felt like I was about to lose my mind, because I still hadn't heard from Loraine. I'd thought I was doing the right thing by giving her some time to make nice with that psychopath husband. I knew she didn't mean any of those horrible things she had said to me; she was just putting on a show for Leon. I figured she'd give me a call the first chance she got. At least that's what I thought; until I called her cell phone Sunday night and found out she'd changed her number.

“Loraine Farrow's line.” I was surprised to hear her secretary's voice. Hannah never answered this line.

“Can I speak to Mrs. Farrow, please?”

“Sure. May I tell her who's calling?”

“Ah, yes, can you tell her it's Michael?” Well, at least it appeared she was in the office.

Hannah put me on hold for a minute. I expected to hear Loraine's voice, but it was Hannah who returned and said, “Sir, Mrs. Farrow has asked me to tell you not to call here again. In fact, she would really appreciate it if you would not try to contact her at all.”

I tried to maintain my composure, even as I issued an ultimatum. “Listen, I know you just work for her and you're doing what you're told, but please tell Mrs. Farrow that if she doesn't have time to speak to me by phone, I'll have no choice but to come to her office and wait until she has time.”

Once again, she put me on hold. A few minutes later, another voice came on the line. “Sir, my name is Greg Wilkins with building security. I'm here to inform you that if you make any attempt to enter the premises, you will be arrested for trespassing. I have also advised Mrs. Farrow that if she receives any more calls from you, I will assist her in filing harassment charges.”

“This is bull. All I wanna do is talk to her.”

“Well, I think it's pretty obvious she doesn't want to talk to you, sir.”

“I don't fucking believe this. Tell Mrs. Farrow life ain't worth living if I can't live it with her.”

“Again, sir, if you come on the premises, you will be arrested.”

I hung up. “Fucking rent-a-cop.”

I had half a mind to go up in that building and force Loraine to talk to me, but my life was fucked up enough at the moment. The last thing I needed was an arrest on top of everything else. I drove down to a secluded section of the James River to think things through. This was where I went whenever I needed to get my head together. There was something about the sound of the river that made me think clearer.

Truth be told, I knew I'd been acting a little crazy lately, but what could I do? I loved Loraine more than I'd ever loved anyone in my entire life. I just wanted us to be happy, like we were before she took back that husband of hers. Dammit, why the hell wouldn't she just leave his ass?

I slammed my hand into the steering wheel. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I screamed at myself. I should have known she would do this. I should have ignored her texts and kept my ass at Celeste's house. I'd be having private pole dances every night, instead of this constant bullshit from a woman who couldn't make up her mind.

I didn't want to accept the fact that loving Loraine was nothing more than a dead-end road, but I was starting to think it was a real possibility. She never had any intention of leaving Leon. I'd always thought that we'd grow old together, but the way she had things planned, I'd be eighty years old and waiting until Leon left to go play shuffleboard before I could see her.

That's when I came to the conclusion that there was only one way Loraine and I were ever really going to be together. That's also when I decided to get rid of the competition, because as long as Leon was in the picture, I really had no chance. The only real question was if I had what it takes to get rid of the bastard.

I opened my glove compartment and took out my gun, admiring it as I stepped out of the car. I pointed it at a tree and pulled the trigger, letting off three rounds. All three bullets landed squarely in the middle of the tree, just where I had aimed. I let out a loud laugh. If the tree had been a man, he'd be dead right now. I had to admit, I'd become a pretty good shot.

The cab pulled up in front of my house, and the driver stepped out to retrieve my bags from the trunk. I'd been away for a little more than a month on what you might call a soul-searching mission. I'd cashed in the tickets I'd purchased for Ron and me to go to France in exchange for a single ticket to St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands and a suite at the Marriott Frenchman's Reef.

I was hoping that the time away would help me get over Ron, but the truth was that after a month, I was coming home almost as messed up as I'd been when I left. Well, maybe not quite as bad. I was a total basket case my first week there. Out of respect for his mother, I didn't attend his funeral, so I felt like I never got a chance to say good-bye. Part of me didn't even feel like I deserved that chance, though, because I still blamed myself for his death.

After the first week, I found the strength to get out of bed and spend some time by the pool at the hotel, but there was no joy in anything I did. I barely spoke to anyone. I spent most of my time peeking around corners, like I half expected to see Peter there, smirking at me.

I slid the key in my front door with a sigh, wondering if I would ever get over Ron's death.

“So you're back?”

I jumped back and dropped my suitcase when I heard the voice come from my dimly lit living room. My first thought was shit, Peter had gotten in my house. It took a minute for my pulse to slow down and my brain to process the fact that I recognized the voice, and it wasn't Peter. Big Poppa was lounging in my living room like he didn't have a care in the world.

I stepped inside and flicked on the high hats, flooding the room with light. I hadn't seen Big Poppa in two months, and although he looked a little haggard, my heart still skipped a beat at the sight of him. Say whatever you want about the man, but you couldn't take anything from his looks. He was one fine male specimen. Old boy actually looked happy to see me too. I wasn't sure yet how I felt about seeing him.

“What are you doing here?” I didn't have to ask how he'd gotten in. With everything going on with Ron, I hadn't had time to change my locks before I left.

“Reminiscing, I guess.” He stood up and held out his open palms, giving me this imploring, kind of pitiful look, one I'd never seen on his face before. “I was having a rough day. Whenever I'm feeling a little low, which seems to be every day lately, I come over here and pour myself a drink. I got good memories of this place. Usually makes me feel better. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, it's cool,” I said, and I actually meant it. “But I'm still gonna need those keys before you leave.” A quick glance around my clean apartment told me he hadn't done anything but hang out, but Peter had taught me that you never could predict who would go off the deep end into Crazyville.

I took off my coat and hung it on the back of a chair, then went to sit on the couch. “So what's going on? You're not the type to be going through depression.”

“A lot of things.” Big Poppa let out a deep sigh as he sat down next to me. “Work sucks, my wife's a bitch, but mostly I've been missing you.”

“That's nice,” I said. Once upon a time, those words would have meant so much to me. Now I couldn't even return the sentiment.

“So how have you been?” he asked awkwardly. “I've tried to call you, and you never answer the phone.”

“I've been all right, I guess. I was down in the Islands for the past month.”

“Wow, a month. That's a long trip.”

“Yeah, I was trying to get some R and R. My friend, the guy I was seeing, he passed away.”

“Yeah, man, that was part of the reason I was trying to get in contact with you. I read in the newspaper about what happened. I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Thanks. He was a good man.” I turned to look at Big Poppa, and surprisingly, I didn't detect any jealousy. “So you know about what happened, huh?”

“Uh-huh. They had your picture plastered all over the newspaper. I didn't know what to think.”

“Don't believe everything you read in the newspaper. I have a suspicion that I know who wrote the article: that guy who's been stalking me.”

“Damn, I didn't even think about that. You really need to do something about that guy.”

“You think I don't know that?” I snapped.

Big Poppa got off that subject quick. “They said that dude committed suicide. Is that true?”

“Yeah, it's true. I found him.” I nodded sadly.

“Jerome, I'm really sorry, man. He was just a kid.”

“Yep, he just turned twenty.” Every time I thought about how young and innocent Ron was, I started tearing up. I couldn't talk about this anymore. “So what about you? Why are you really here?”

“Like I said, I miss you.” He reached for my hand, but I slid it out of the way. I wasn't ready for that. “I've been coming here every couple of days for the past few weeks, hoping one day you'd come home. And here you are.”

“Yep, here I am,” I said flatly. I had nothing else to give him; I felt empty inside.

Big Poppa sighed. “Look, I know you're still grieving this young man's death—”

I cut him off. “Ron. His name was Ron.”

“Ron, yeah, sorry. I know you're still grieving Ron's death. And there were a lot of things said last time we spoke, but is there any chance of us getting back together? I really do miss you, Jerome.”

I sat there studying his face for a second. He looked so good. It would have been so easy to lean across the coffee table and tongue him down, initiating a very steamy lovemaking session right there in my living room. I hadn't made love since the morning of Ron's death. Until now, I hadn't even thought about it, despite all the down-low brothers who'd tried to talk to me down in St. Thomas. I wanted to say yes so bad, if just for the sex, but I'd be lying to myself if I said I was ready to date this man again.

“It's tempting, more tempting than you will ever know, but I'm sorry. I can't do it. Not right now.”

He looked surprised, perhaps even hurt. “Can't, or won't?”

“Both,” I said with finality. “I start messing around with you, I'll never find Mr. Right.”

“What if I'm Mr. Right?”

“We've already had this argument. You are not Mr. Right; you're Mr. Right Now. You can't give me what I need.”

He grabbed his crotch. “I've got what you need right here. I always have.”

“You know, it's a damn shame,” I said with a wry laugh. “How long we been messing with each other? What, almost six years? And you still think it's about the dick.”

He looked at me with his eyebrows scrunched up, as if to say
What else is there?

I shook my head. “Ain't gonna be much fucking when we're both seventy years old.”

“Jerome, what do you want from me?”

“I want what you can't give. I want something long-term. I want to take care of you and watch you get old. I want to be there when you're sick and all alone.” I got up from my seat and picked up my suitcase. “It was good seeing you, Poppa. I'm gonna go and unpack. Leave your key on the counter on your way out.”

“Leon, I didn't think you were going to make it.”

I walked into Roberta's office twenty minutes late for my appointment after spending the afternoon at Loraine's office, setting up a webcam and some spyware on her computer. It might sound a little over the top to be spying on my wife like that, but after catching her with Michael, I didn't feel like I could trust her. She doesn't like the idea, but that's her problem. The spy gear would ensure that I was never caught off guard like that again. Still, as I installed everything, and she looked on, I knew this wasn't the best way to keep my marriage intact. If I couldn't trust my wife, there wasn't much hope for us. Maybe a little time with Roberta would help me get my mind right and get past this.

“You're lucky I even showed up with all the shit I had to deal with this weekend.” I sat down in the reclining chair in front of her. I'm sure I looked like shit, because I hadn't slept more than a few hours since last Thursday night when I busted them.

“What happened?” She picked up her notebook and a pen.

“Plain and simple: I caught Loraine cheating on me.”

“Leon, I'm sorry. I know how much you've been trying to work on your marriage.”

“Oh, let's not even go there, because she had the nerve to be using the time I spend here to be seeing the motherfucker.”

She put down the pen and looked at me for a long moment, probably trying to restrain herself from saying what she really felt about Loraine. I always wondered how therapists managed to keep from stating their personal feelings. In Roberta's case, she would just ask another question.

“Was it the same man you'd been concerned about?”

“Yeah, it was that motherfucker. Roberta, I swear I wanted to kill him.”

“What about Loraine? What does she say about all this?”

“Oh, she's so sorry,” I said, my tone edged with sarcasm. “She just wants to work it out. I'm surprised she didn't call you for an appointment.”

“No, I haven't heard from her…yet. But what about you? Do you want to work it out?”

“I don't know. I love her, but she's fucked me up pretty good this time. I don't know if it's possible.”

“Couples have affairs and survive them, if they are willing to work on the marriage to save it. The real question is do you want to save it, Leon?” She gave me a pointed look. Good old Roberta; she never would take “I don't know” as an answer.

“I don't know if I'll ever trust her again,” I admitted, thinking of the camera I'd just installed. “Every time I think of her being with him, I just want to scream.” I slammed my hand down on the arm of the chair.

“I know you're upset, but you have to stay calm.”

“Roberta, that son of a bitch came to my house. How am I supposed to stay calm when my mind is full of stuff like that?”

Roberta peered over her glasses at me and stared me down. I knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn't the type of woman to say things twice. She would sit there and look at me like that until I calmed down. No sense in prolonging the stare; I folded my hands in my lap to let her know I'd heard her and that she could continue.

“I told you this was going to happen,” I said bitterly.

“Yes, you did.”

“And it's going to happen again. Loraine's going to sleep with him again if you don't help me, Roberta. You gotta find a way to stop me from finishing so quick. If I can't please my wife, she's gonna keep finding someone else to do it.” I was reaching a point of desperation. All this work I'd been doing in therapy and I still hadn't accomplished a damn thing except digging up old memories. I wanted a quick fix, because with Loraine's cheating ass, I felt like the clock was ticking on my marriage.

“We're going to find a way, Leon. I promise you we're going to find a way.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “That's what you keep saying, but so far I don't see a damn thing changed.”

For a quick second, her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened, like she wanted to curse me out for questioning her ability as a therapist. “Well,” she started, “perhaps there's another reason that things aren't progressing as quickly as you'd like.”

“What are you talking about?” If she was about to suggest another hypnosis session, I just might have to find a new therapist.

“You've got much bigger problems we should be dealing with if you're going to have a healthy marriage.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked again, this time slower, like she hadn't heard me the first time.

She held her ground and gave me that stare again. “I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Leon.”

“Oh my goodness. Are you back to that again?”

She nodded.

“I told you it's not true. I was just messing around when I told you all that stuff.”

“And I told you that I know you're lying. Look, it's vital to your recovery that I know everything about you. I can't help you if I don't fully understand all your problems.”

“So you say. Can we change the subject, please?”

She hesitated for a second, then pushed aside her notebook and removed her glasses. “Sure. There's something else I need to talk to you about anyway.”

“What?” I snapped. I was starting to feel like this woman was just inventing stuff about me to keep me coming back for more therapy.

“Someone broke into my office this weekend.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So what does that have to do with me? I didn't do it.”

“I believe you, but the police may want to talk to you about it.”

“For what?”

Roberta let out a deep sigh. “Unfortunately, your file was one of the ones taken from my file cabinet.”

“My file? I thought doctors kept stuff on computers nowadays.”

“My computer records contain your insurance information, billing, and stuff like that, but the notes that I write during our sessions are kept in my file cabinet.”

My eyes swiftly landed on her notebook, that damn pad where she was constantly scribbling down everything I said—and who knows what else. Maybe that's how she stopped herself from sharing her personal opinions; she wrote them all in those notes.

I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes at her. “What exactly did you have in my files?”

She tried to be subtle about it, but I saw her roll her chair backward a few inches as if she felt the need to put some distance between us. “I had some recordings of your hypnosis sessions and my notes from your sessions.” She said it nonchalantly, like she hadn't just told me that some total stranger now had access to every humiliating detail of my life that Roberta had managed to unearth during our sessions.

“You're joking, right?” I shouted as I stood up from my seat. She scooted back another foot, this time not trying to hide the movement. “Don't you keep that shit under lock and key?”

“Yes, I do. Whoever it was broke the lock.” She was still talking in that calm, rhythmic voice that they probably practice in therapist school or whatever. I used to find it soothing, but now it was just pissing me off that she didn't seem to understand how bad this was.

“Roberta, what
exactly
did you have in your notes?”

“Everything. Everything we ever talked about.”

My mind raced back to the start of my therapy sessions, then did a quick fast-forward as I remembered some of our more intense sessions. Holy shit. Twice a week for practically a year. That was a whole lot of “everything” I'd shared, all compiled into one very embarrassing file. That folder was full of my confidential information, some of which I hadn't even shared with Loraine, and now it was out there somewhere.

“You mean to tell me that somebody's out there with all my personal shit?” My heart was in my stomach. “This is bullshit. If that file gets in the wrong hands—”

“I know it doesn't help, but I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? What the hell is it with you, woman? Sorry isn't good enough.”

In a sudden burst of rage, I swiped my arm across Roberta's desk, knocking her notebook, lamp, and telephone to the floor. She screamed and jumped up from her chair. It gave me an odd sense of satisfaction to see her finally show some damn emotion. With that, I stormed out of the office, wondering if things could possibly get any worse for me.